CelsAway

Home is everywhere I’ve been—it’s rooted in all my memories

What you’ll read:

• Back at the Breakfast Table
• A Strange Kind of Return
• Home in Many Places

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Back at the Breakfast Table

I’m back home, sitting at the same table where I used to eat breakfast before school, and where I refused to eat dinner because I didn’t like vegetables. It’s been seven months since I last sat here. Not that long, really, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

In those months, I found the confidence I always lacked and an excitement in life that I missed. I fell in love, got my heart broken, and then stitched it back together again. I made so many friends all around the world, built three new families, and unofficially adopted pets in every place I stayed.

It’s been a rollercoaster since the day I left, which fits my brand, and I am sure that when I leave again in a couple of months (unknown amount), it won’t be any different.

A Strange Kind of Return

Now that I’m back in Belgium, I’ve been feeling… weird. It’s only been a week, but something (or everything) has shifted. I grew up in this house, in this city. Yet I’ve never really felt tied to this place. It didn’t necessarily feel like coming home.

Don’t get me wrong—Bruges is beautiful. I’ve told everyone, everywhere, that it’s a must-visit. But for me, too, a visit once in a while feels like enough.

When I was twelve years old, I started talking about going to boarding school in a different country – any country. I used to daydream all day, every day, about living elsewhere. I told my parents I’d move to Canada or New Zealand. They’d laugh and I’d get angry, because I was serious. I believed I was going to leave, and not just for a vacation.

For years, I could barely say a nice word about Belgium. I thought I hated it. But then I left, and something softened. I wouldn’t call myself a patriot, but being far away made me weirdly proud. Not of our politics or history or anything grand like that. But of the little things. The stuff people actually care about—fries, chocolate, beer (don’t take this too seriously). I will gladly brag about Belgium having the best of those to anyone who’ll listen — and to anyone who won’t, too.

Still, coming back here has been strange. It’s like everything stayed the same, but I didn’t. I feel like I’ve been dropped back into a life that used to be mine but doesn’t quite fit anymore, and I don’t know how to act or cope.

I’m more aware of things I never noticed before. How quiet the streets are here. How early everything closes. How no one really talks to strangers — or how strangers look when you try to have a conversation with them. People want to know when you’ll “settle down” or what your “plan” is now. And I get it—those questions come from a good place—but I don’t really have answers. I’d like to know too, but right now, I feel so confused with what is possible and what steps I should take.

The truth is, I don’t think I ever believed there’s one place to call home. Home, for me, was where I had my bed, to which I never carried an emotional connection. Some people don’t feel at home anywhere, and I think I used to belong to that group. Now, however, I am the opposite, and I carry home with me. It’s in the people I meet, in the routines I build wherever I land, in the languages I learn five words from, in the meals I share with strangers who become family.

Home in Many Places

Home is also everywhere I’ve been – it’s rooted in all my memories. Bruges will always be my home: my family is here, I grew up in this place, I went to school here, had my first love and heartbreak, made so many friends, but lost as many too. Most of my life was spent here – that alone, makes it home.

But the month in Lisbon, with the group of girls I volunteered with, and Alexa, who introduced me to local life, is home too. The little routines we created, and the late-night talks we shared, but also the fact that we would go explore the city alone, to get home to this new-found family of only girls, to then share about our days or sit in silence together.

Daisy and her family took me in and gave me my own room for over two months – how could that not be home? I joined a family member’s birthday and was included in the Friday-night dinner tradition, where each week one of the kids got to choose something fun or take-out to eat. They made sure I had a turn too.

And of course, Ubud, of which the familiarity still lingers like I never left, where I made friends of all ages, who drove me around and fed me home-cooked food and taught me their culture – I know when I see them again, it’ll be like coming home.

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Tips and Takeaways

• Coming home after long-term travel will feel weird—prepare to feel like a stranger in your own country (and home even).
• Don’t panic if your old life doesn’t quite fit anymore. You’ve changed, and that’s okay.
• Sometimes distance helps you see the beauty you missed.

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Hi everyone!

For the next three months, I will be staying in Belgium – maybe even longer, I am considering all my options. While there won’t be any new travel adventures, I will post more in-depth pieces biweekly about solo-traveling and the places I’ve visited.

-Cels

PS. Sorry for the newsletter a couple of days ago. I accidentally posted too early and had to take the post offline again, which is why the link didn’t work.